


Identities

by waitingfor_mybiggles (waitingfor_margo)



Category: The Libertines
Genre: Fluff, M/M, and ridiculousness, nothing more to say
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-03-07
Updated: 2017-03-07
Packaged: 2018-09-30 16:09:43
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,595
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10166789
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/waitingfor_margo/pseuds/waitingfor_mybiggles
Summary: already posted on albion-fic





	

**Author's Note:**

> already posted on albion-fic

“No.” Carl looked down at Pete’s hand or better at the object enclosed in his fingers with unease and let his hand run through his hair nervously. Pete’s eyes seemed to swallow his face. “But Biggles, yesterday you promised me we’ll do it.”  
They had been sitting in bed, smoking, when Pete had come up with the idea. Carl had been a bit tipsy, due to some fans they had met in a pub that evening, who had insisted on buying drinks for their heroes. So maybe the booze was the reason for Carl’s interest in Pete’s words then or maybe just the way he had said it. Because Carl couldn’t remember that Pete had mentioned the thing that he held in his hand now, Carl wouldn’t have considered doing what Pete had suggested otherwise. Forgetting who they were for one night was all Pete had said. Though when he thought about it now, it probably wouldn’t work without it.  
It would be fun, Pete had said. It would be something new they could try, Pete had said. And no, all that had nothing to do with sex, much to Carl’s disappointment.  
“I’m not going to wear this, sorry”, Carl said to a puppy-dog-eyed Peter. “It’s just ridiculous, I’m going to look horrible.” “Aw, I’m still going to find you attractive, honey”, Pete grinned and planted a kiss on the tip of Carl’s nose. Moving his mouth to his ear, he whispered “because I know exactly what’s underneath”. The fingers of his free hand trailed down Carl’s chest, the light touch making Carl shiver and unable to suppress it, he smiled. From the corner of his eyes he saw Pete’s right hand drawing nearer though and he grabbed Pete’s wrist to stop him. “No, really, it isn’t going to do my hair any good, all pinned-up and knotted.” Pete drew back and rolled his eyes at him. “You’re such a girl, Carla.” That got him somehow. He stood up from the sofa, grabbed the wig from Pete’s hand and said “going to fucking show you who the girl is”. With that he strode across the living room in the direction of the bathroom followed by Pete’s laughter that sounded suspiciously like that of a man whose plan had worked out.  
Carl stood in front of the mirror, looking at the strands of light brown hair hanging over his fingers, unsure of what to do. Hesitantly he grabbed one of his hair ribbons (yes, he did possess them for when he wanted to have a shower without washing his hair, so that it wouldn’t get wet) and tied his hair together above his head. He turned sideways to the mirror and wiggled a bit, making his ponytail swing from side to side. Pete wasn’t completely wrong – he was a bit girlish. Bastard. “Having fun, Carlos?” Pete’s head poked into the bathroom, wearing a smirk. Carl winced slightly in surprise but quickly recovered. “No, because my boyfriend loves torturing me, even if it means I’ll look ugly.” With that he put the wig on, slapping a few strands from out of his face and pouted. Pete broke into laughter at the sight of him with the wig hanging askew, hands on hips and trying to look offended. “That’s it”, Carl said, ripping the false hair from his head. “Oh no, no, Carl, wait! I haven’t meant it like that.” Pete grabbed his forearm to stop him. Carl tried to hide his smile at Pete’s obvious fear of upsetting him, silently luxuriating in the power he held over Peter. “Look, you will look alright if you fix it in the right way. Anyway, this isn’t about looking good but about being able to be free of fans spotting us while we just want to drink a beer in peace. I love our fans, of course I do, but you have to think twice about going out and sometimes…” “I know, I understand that.” “Besides”, he added with a mischievous grin “you’re always pretty, even with a ponytail.” “Oh fuck off”, Carl replied only half-heartedly. Pete drew Carl to him, wrapping his arms around his waist and leaned in to give him a peck on the lips. Then he withdrew the wig from Carl’s fingers and turned it in his hands until the fringe pointed in his direction. With one hand he grabbed Carl’s ponytail to press it against his head and with the other he placed the wig on his head. Yet he kept holding Carl’s own hair in place as it was about to fall back down otherwise. “You’ve got hairpins, Carl?” “Of course.” Pete raised an eyebrow in amusement. “What? You asked, so you assumed it anyway and they’re practical”, he said defensively. “I didn’t say anything…so where are they?” “Top drawer, over there.” Pete tried to reach over to the dresser without letting Carl and his hair go. “Ouch!” Obviously not that wise. “Careful, I’d quite like to keep my hair, thank you very much.” “Got them”, Pete said simply. With one hand occupied with holding Carl’s ponytail in place, he had to take the hairpins in between his teeth to take one by one and fix the other boy’s hair with them. Carl giggled. “So concentrated on your work, you are.” “Of course, I want it to be perfect…there, settled.” Carl tried to turn his head to the mirror but Pete stopped him. “Nah, need to coif you properly first. No peeking.” Carl groaned. “Could you please get on with it, we’re not going to be ready to go before midnight at your pace.” “Oohh, suddenly we’re going to go out?” “I’m not wearing that for fun, if I’m doing this then it has to be worth it”, Carl replied still a bit grumpy but determined. “Whatever you wish, my love”, Pete said innocently. “Wanker”, Carl muttered as it was Pete who was about to get what he wanted and he asked himself how Pete did that every time.  
“You can admire yourself now”, Pete said after applying a huge amount of hairspray to his work of art. “Uh, Pete what have you done? I look like a macho”, Carl said startled. “Not yourself then”, Pete said contently, resting his head on Carl’s shoulder. “But…I look like a complete twat.” “My twat”, Pete smiled and kissed him on the neck. “I have to say I’m a bit impressed, it’s just the hair and yet…I do look different.” “Aw, thanks, darling. Yet I think just ‘different’ is not enough.” With that he sprinted out of the bathroom. “Pete!” Bewildered Carl turned his gaze from the open door back to the mirror and watched himself intently. With his fingertips he glided over his gelled head. Light brown, he wouldn’t have thought that this could be his colour but now somehow…Pete came back and carried a bag with him, the one he had taken the wig from earlier. He sat it on the floor and rummaged around until he seemed to have what he had been looking for.  
“Oooohh no, no, no. No. The wig is one thing, Pete but I’m definitely not going any further.” “But Carlos, it’s just not enough, they will still recognise you, see, they will go ‘oh, there’s Carl Barât from the Libertines but what did he do with his gorgeous hair?’ and then you’ll be on the cover of some gossip magazine under the headline ‘hair horror in Arcadia’ or ‘Barât’s barnet blunder’…They love alliterations.” “But there is a reason why I’m not wearing a beard, Pete.” “And now there’s a reason why you are going to wear one”, Pete replied and threw the moustache at him. Carl sighed. “Why am I doing this?”, he asked while he held the piece of facial hair to his face. “Because you love me”, Pete smiled as he fetched a little tube of glue out of the bag. He stood before Carl and applied some of it on the underside of the moustache before gently pressing it just above Carl’s upper lip. “Kissing could be a bit difficult now”, Pete grinned. “I’m a daredevil, I take the risk”, Carl said seductively and captured Pete’s lips with his. Pete chuckled. “It’s definitely different. Like kissing another man, like betraying you.” “Should I feel deceived?” “Oh no, there isn’t anyone on this planet who enthrals me as you do. There isn’t any facial hair like yours” Pete nuzzled his head in the crook of Carl’s hair in an affectionate gesture. Carl slapped him lightly on the back and said “What are you going to look like then?”  
Pete rummaged in the bag again and retrieved three objects from its depths. A blonde wig, a same-colour full beard and glasses. “At least I’m not uglier than you”, Carl laughed. “Seriously Pete, there can’t be anyone else with an idea like that on this planet.” “I take it as a compliment”, he answered light-heartedly. “You can choose some of the clothes from the bag while I get ready”, he said to Carl who was watching him arrange the wig on his head. There were two pairs of trousers, one grey and one black, two shirts and two blazers. Nothing they had in their own wardrobe, so it wouldn’t look like them. Not at all. Carl took the black trousers, one of the shirts and blazers and began changing. By the time he had taken off all his clothes and stood only in his boxers, he felt a pair of eyes on him. Without turning around he asked “Finished, Pete?” “Almost”, came the instant reply. Carl started changing. Soon Pete accompanied him and Carl couldn’t help laughing out loud at a blonde Peter with full beard and glasses, looking utterly at ease with himself.  
“Splendid you look, mister”, Peter said after they were ready. “I am going to burn that stuff after we’re done, I tell you that”, Carl said looking straight at him. He was still not comfortable with this situation. “We’ll see, Carlos, we’ll see.”

***

After a few minutes they arrived at the little pub, Pete had spoken of. He went straight to the bar after coming in, letting Carl choose where to sit. He took a table at the other end of the pub, waiting for Pete to come back. However, a few minutes passed and he was still standing at the bar, chatting with the barman, as it seemed. Carl stood up and walked over to him, having left his coat at the table, so that nobody would take it. As Pete saw him, he greeted him enthusiastically. “Ah Carrrrlos!”, he shouted, rolling the ‘r’s like a Spaniard. Maybe a bit more than necessary. “I just told this frriendly man herre that we arre scholarrrs frrom España and that we arre studying a semesterrr in England.” His accent was so horrible that Carl had problems suppressing laughter. The barman seemed to find Pete just as amusing but if it was because he sensed the taradiddle or just thought that this Spaniard was funny, Carl knew not. Nonetheless he wanted to make as little fuss as possible, so imitating Pete he said “Pedrrrroo, I want to sit down and drrrink my beerrr.” “Rrright, see you”, Pete said to the barman, took their drinks from the counter and went back to their table with Carl. “What was that about?”, Carl hissed when they sat down. “D’you want to make it any more obvious?” “I’m just being someone else, Carrrrlos”, he smirked. Carl rolled his eyes at him and took a sip. He leaned back in his chair and began to relax, about to warm to the idea of being able to just enjoy a night out with Peter, when this boy found something else to scare him with. Suddenly his eyes flashed up and he leaned forward to say something. “You know what day it is, Carl?”, he asked in a voice that made alarm bells ring in Carl’s head. “Yeah, Friday”, he answered nonetheless. “Yes and that means today is what?” Carl had no idea but Pete bent his head to the right and Carl looked. “Nooooo, please Peter, is this not enough?” Why did he love this maniac who loved to humiliate him so much? “No, not yet”, Pete grinned, sprang up and yanked Carl with him. He had such a strength when he was excited about something. “Pete, really, I don’t want that.” “Oh, come on sweetheart, you’ve got such a lovely voice.” They reached the man on the karaoke machine and Pete began to speak in his stupid accent again. “Do you have got songs frrom this grrreat band, The Liberrrtines?” “’Course, which one?”, the man replied a bit reserved, apparently not falling for Pete’s game. “The Man Who Would Be King”, Peter beamed back at him. 

***

Carl really wasn’t sure what he was doing here, on a stage in a pub, dressed in clothes that didn’t belong to him, pretending to sing a song that wasn’t his own to a crowd that looked him up and down. Or so it felt. The song began and Carl’s heart began to beat faster. And then Pete began to sing and startled Carl once again as he managed to sing with a voice deeper than normal and sounded very strange and only then Carl thought about it. Of course they had to mask their voices or people would recognise them. Carl joined Pete’s singing without really thinking about it and cringed slightly as his voice sounded a few octaves higher than he’d expected. His voice slipped slightly and he missed the note. He felt some people frown at him and began to sweat. Suddenly he felt Pete grabbing for his hand and looked up at him. Pete’s eyes behind his glasses shone and the mouth that was framed by blonde hair was curled up and somehow Carl just had to smile and it made his voice slip again but he didn’t care. All he cared for was this maniac beside him and the way his voice gargled so deep in his throat and how he squeezed Carl’s hand as they sang and Carl didn’t think of those people who were frowning at them or raising their eyebrows because it was Pete’s and his song and they could sing it in every way they wished and it made Carl almost want to laugh and by the end of the song when they were rewarded with restrained applause, Carl was curious about whatever Peter had in mind now, finally comfortable with doing whatever he would come up with. Yet Carl wouldn’t have expected Pete’s next move. He reached over to Carl’s face with one hand and quickly tore the beard off while doing the same for himself with his other one. Carl felt a sting at his upper lip and was really baffled and so were the people. Only Pete reacted. “Run, Carlos!”, he shouted, before grapping his wrist and jumping off the stage with him. As he tried not to fall over his own legs in an attempt of running after Peter, Carl heard someone shouting “It’s Them!”  
They’d crossed many corners before Peter let go of Carl and they both gasped their breath back. “Fuck”, Carl panted. “Was quite an eventful evening, wasn’t it?”, Pete smiled, still fighting for air. “Quite eventful? You’re a nutter, Peter Doherty.” “I’m a libertine, Carl”, he said delighted and a bit proud. “I’m a libertine.” And with that he sprinted down the road.


End file.
